


The Unfinished Story

by Of_Princes_and_Savages



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Belle is alive because fuck it, Cursed Hyperion Heights (Once Upon a Time), F/M, One Shot, Rumbelle Showdown 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-10-21 08:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20690360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Princes_and_Savages/pseuds/Of_Princes_and_Savages
Summary: Weaver is a detective. A damned good detective. Now if he could just get his shit together and figure out why the librarian cares about him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My completely-forgotten about contribution to 2019's Rumbelle Showdown in which I, AKA, "Ashley Spinelli", was the loser of Round One, Group B, but still liked how this turned out. :)
> 
> (And I'm glad at least one person recognized the pseudonym, yay nerds!)

Detective Weaver of the Hyperion Heights Police Department was a man who filled the hours of the day with his work. Lots of work. He didn’t do friends, he didn’t have family, and work odd hours so getting a pet was right out. But he wasn’t lonely, he had an important if unrewarding job that would have made maintaining human relationships outside of the office too difficult anyway.

All of this was contradictory to his near-manic search for one red-and-black book in his shitty little apartment.

Theoretically he didn’t have to be in the office until much later in the day. His search wasn’t due to any sort of police work whatsoever, though. Thank god. Because if it were he’d be making a hash of it. Taking a deep breath, Weaver stepped back from where he was making his second search of his bedroom. Okay. Why not approach it like a case then? A crime scene for a…a missing persons case?

Sure.

First: He’d had the book two nights ago, when he finished The Night Circus. The circus had been sold, the loose threads wrapped up neatly, the contest undecided between the star-crossed lovers. Good book. He had finished reading it on the sofa.

Second: Was anything unusual about that night? Yes and no. He had been a few words away from fully finishing the book, still reading the last sentence or so, when his phone rang and he was called in to investigate a new lead on a stalled case. Being called into work after going home wasn’t too unusual, but that was when he forgot what happened to the book. He didn’t get home again until the yesterday evening and had very blurry memories of shuffling into the kitchen and eating some leftover takeout, leaving his plate on the coffee table for the morning, and going to bed.

So, by this logic, Weaver had established where the book was last scene-the couch,-and when,-the night before last,-which meant his best bet was to look around the couch again. He backtracked to the living room section of his apartment, and briefly scanned the area with his eyes again. The coffee table was empty, the couch was clear, the one ugly little end table on the left-hand side was empty save a lamp and the TV remote.

Weaver’s coffee table was enough to look under just by bending down a little, but the couch…aha. The couch was an ancient, antique monstrosity that could fold out into a bed. It was also so low to the ground he had to get on his hands and knees and reach up-

His fingers met with the corner of a paperback and Weaver grinned. He pulled out The Night Circus, a little dusty but otherwise in fine condition, and allowed the stupid grin to remain on his face while he wiped the book clean. Was he worried about late fees? Absolutely not. Was he worried what the librarian would think of him if he lost a book she’d recommended as a favorite and returned it in such a state?

Worryingly so.

The librarian, Gabrielle O'Hara, was a wee thing dressed in thick cardigans or sweaters, long skirts, and sensible shoes for climbing library ladders. She looked like the stereotypical frumpy librarian sans glasses, but her shy little smiles and clear blue eyes were the most beautiful things Weaver had seen. The first time he saw her was not love at first sight in the least; He’d only come into the library because it started pouring down rain in the middle of his walk, and the library was the closest place to dry out. Simple.

Things became less simple when he tried to explain why he kept going back. Ms. O'Hara was very quiet and skittish, but she was shy to everyone really. He figured taking up reading would get the higher-ups off his back, convince them he had a hobby even if reading was a bit dull by certain standards. He needed his extra money to pay for bills and the like, detectives weren’t exactly loaded and he had an extra mouth to feed in his informant Tilly, so a library card seemed like a logical step towards a steady supply of books. At least that’s what he’d convinced himself.

By now it was useless though: He had a ridiculous crush on the sweet, mousy librarian who had a truly wicked sense of humor if you got her to open up to you, and it was always on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she was doing anything after work on the Friday’s he visited.

He didn’t expect her to go to Roni’s Bar with him or anything, the world’s most platonic cup of coffee would fulfill his needs nicely. He just…liked Ms. O'Hara, seeing her was one of the highlights of his week. Seeing a little more of her would be nice, too. But Weaver was fifty-three, graying, and not getting any handsomer as time wore on, and spent too much time at work to really give a woman the attention she was due in a relationship.

He would be a truly terrible partner, and he wouldn’t force that on someone as shy as Ms. O'Hara who’d probably only say yes to a date because she felt pressured. No. No way.

Still…he had to return The Night Circus now, and the middle of a Friday was guaranteed to be slow, so…

Weaver arrived at the library to find the circulation desk, decorated with a garland of orange-and-black, occupied by Ms. O'Hara herself, picking at a wilted-looking salad and reading the paper as was her habit at noon on a slow day. His steps on the floor drew her attention and he received a pleased little grin that had his foolish heart soaring.

“Hello Detective Weaver,” she beamed, putting the lid back on her salad. “Did you enjoy the book?”

“You haven’t led me astray yet. I admit the changing perspectives between the magicians and Bailey had me confused, but altogether, I enjoyed it. How was your week?”

“Not bad.” And she always answered “not bad” to the point that Weaver suspected her life was as dull and repetitive as his was. “I’m expecting some new books in a few weeks, I might just have something very new to suggest soon…” she trailed off a moment as he handed her the book, squinting at the pages where her hand brushed against it. Weaver had cleaned the cover off, but he hadn’t thought to dust the pages.

“Ah…I had a bit of trouble finding that this morning,” he confessed slowly. “It fell down and got knocked under my couch.”

“Ah,” Ms. O'Hara bit back a smile. “I see. Well, it happens. You won’t believe how many books I’ve found under the couch of my place, er, actually my shelf is a bit full so I’ve got books everywhere, actually.”

“Because you don’t have enough to read at work?” Weaver teased.

She blushed the sweetest shade of pink and pressed her full lips together. “Those books are mine, these books are the city’s. There’s a difference!”

Weaver heard himself laugh, and he was not a man who laughed often, but something about Gabrielle O'Hara made him very irrational. And stupid. That “what are you doing later?” cropped up on the tip of his tongue again before he could squash it. He was actively in the middle of a case, Victoria Belfrey was being extra pesky lately and he had no idea how he got involved with that woman but he really didn’t like her. No, starting anything other than this casual friendship with Ms. O'Hara would be bad for her in a number of ways, in fact, it was time he left, probably.

“Well maybe you can explain the difference to me next week,” he said as casually as possible. “I’ve got to get going.”

Ms. O'Hara hesitated. “Aren’t you going to check out another book?”

Damn. “Ah…I’m afraid I won’t have time to finish it this week.”

“Oh. Right. Well, good luck with…that. Be careful.”

She had gotten in the habit of that. Be careful. Fuck. Did she worry about him? Weaver tried to shake that nagging thought off as he waved goodbye and left the library for the station. Did she care about him?These were answers he didn’t want, things that would only lead him into more trouble if he really wanted to keep Gabrielle O'Hara out of his messy shit-stained life.

He’d do what he always did and focus on work. Tomorrow he’d bring Tilly some food and see if she had any new leads for him. She might be in an extra Tilly-ish mood tomorrow because it was Halloween, but, it’s not like Halloween in Hyperion Heights had a great deal or surprises for a man like Weaver.


	2. Chapter 2

Halloween night passed the same way it always did for Gabrielle O'Hara: Home alone, eating from a bowl of candy that was meant for any trick-or-treaters that wandered to her door but usually was empty by the second of November from her picking.

She really wasn't sure how long she'd been here in Hyperion Heights. Two years, three, more? She marked the passage of time by what holiday decorations she hung up in the library, tomorrow all the plastic skeletons and black-and-orange streamers would be brought down for some colorful construction paper leaves and hand-print turkeys. Thanksgiving didn't hold much meaning to Gabrielle, because she was neither American by birth or had much in the way of family to celebrate with. She didn't have much in the way of friends, either, because in order to make friends one had to talk to people, first, and she was terrible at that.

For instance: Weaver.

Detective R. Weaver was a regular patron of the library. He had soft, graying hair and the most beautiful brown eyes and a thin, expressive mouth. She was aware she was smitten, because there was no reason to be so attracted to man who frequently wore what looked like an entire outfit made of denim. (His leather jackets were much nicer.) He had started coming to the library...sometime ago, she forgot the exact date but it had been a rainy day and he was the only other person in the library. That was the first time she'd seen him, but not the last.

The problem was that Gabrielle couldn't even remember the last date she'd been on. It was pleasant to think about Weaver walking her home, his jacket (even the ugly denim one,) wrapped around her shoulders, but her heart always froze solid in her chest at the thought of asking him...anything. At least anything more personal than "how are you?" or "please be careful" when he went back to work.

Gabrielle had a whole list of reasons worked up in her head why nothing would ever happen between them: She was too shy, she wasn't attractive, she got tongue-tied so easily around the man, she was too awkward, he was too involved with his job, they were a very casual acquaintance at best, he could do better than her. And then this blonde girl appeared in front of her desk while she was pulling down the Halloween garland.

"Need a hand with that?" she asked with a grin worthy of the Cheshire Cat.

"Um...no, no thank you, I'm alright. Um. C-can I help you, Miss...?"

"So you're the librarian," the girl said, tilting her head one way, then the other, and nodding sharply like she had the answer to a silent question. "You're the beauty alright. You know Detective Weaver?"

"He comes in here once a week, yes. Why?" Gabrielle's heart began trembling, ice creeping up her spine. "Did...did something happen?"

"Well it did, and it didn't, in that he was shot but he didn't die?"

_Oh god._

Gabrielle, for the first time in her life, abandoned the library in the hands of the doddering elderly volunteer who barely knew how to type on the computers in favor of letting this strange girl lead her to the hospital. Tilly vanished into thin air once she got to the front desk to ask about the room number, like a helpful spirit or fairy godmother, but Gabrielle barely noticed as she hurried to the appropriate room. It was a private one, just the one bed, and Weaver was sitting upright in it, staring at the ceiling, with a thoughtful frown on his face when she stumbled in.

"What happened?" Weaver jumped at the sound of her voice, his eyes widening at whatever scene she must be making as she dropped into the chair beside his bed. "What-When-How-You were shot, what-"

He just blinked those beautiful (alive!) eyes at her, voice barely a whisper.

"Belle."

"P-pardon?" Gabrielle swallowed, her mouth too dry. Bell? What about a Bell? Was it a hired hitman of Victoria Belfry's? You heard rumors about that awful woman. Was it on Bellwood Street? Able Road? "What was that?"

"I-Nevermind," he shook his head, sharply. "You...wait, why are you here? Who told you I was here-"

"Tilly-whoever that is,-told me you were shot, I-" she looked over him, at the plain hospital gown and the thin sheets and blankets drawn up to his waist, not sure what she was looking for but as long as it wasn't a pool of blood that was fine, "-I was worried, I had to see you. What happened?"

Weaver hesitated a moment. "A bit of a mix-up. It's been dealt with though, nothing to worry about sweetheart, I promise."

Sweetheart. Gabrielle's brain stuttered to a stop at that, just for a moment. Sweetheart. She'd been called that by condescending men before, but for some reason, slipping off Weaver's tongue, it sounded much sweeter. Genuine. Maybe she'd think about that later, right now she was just glad he was alive to worry about.

"How exactly does a _mix-up_ get you shot?"

He smiled, and the next thing she knew, he was reaching for her hand. Then he was holding her hand. And if she thought her brain had stuttered before, it certainly had now. "I'll tell you later, I'm sure you'll find my ineptitude amusing. How was your day?"

"Fine," she blurted, not knowing what else to say and feeling very much like a deer in the headlights. "Until I was told my favorite patron was shot."

Weaver smiled, a soft, new sort of smile she'd never seen before, and oh, she was going to have to try very, very, very hard to ask him for coffee when he was discharged because she wanted to see that smile all the time.

Preferably while he held her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prooooobably gonna leave it there. I hate an open-ending myself but I just can't find a way to close it neatly because it was such a clusterfork of a storyline.
> 
> My headcanon is that instead of wasting their time at the edge of forever, Belle and Rumple decided to take a totally-married tour of the realms after Gideon went to school, (maybe they were going to do it in every realm/kingdom? Rumbelle smut forever!) and ended up meeting/adopting Alice. Instead of being the Dead Wife and Grieving Widower, it's power-couple!Rumbelle all the way, as it should be. He's definitely going to keep Gabrielle in the dark as long as possible to protect her, because Rumple, until the curse breaks and Belle gives him a slap on the wrist and kiss on the lips over it. I might give it a whirl at a later date but, again, a clusterfork is really hard to work with. ':)

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably be my only Hyperion Heights AU because the only episode I watched was "Beauty", for obvious trash reasons. (Rumbelle Trash.) Still, there might be a quick follow-up chapter from "Gabrielle's" POV running to her not-husband in the hospital, because again...trash. X3
> 
> (Fun fact, Belle's curse name here comes from both **Gabrielle**-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve, the French authoress of Beauty and the Beast, and Paige **O'Hara**, the voice actress of the animated Belle.)


End file.
